


Primadonna Boy (Youtube Taught Me How to Feel)

by Rokutagrl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Digital Art, Fluff, M/M, OiKage Week 2018, Youtuber AU, with fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokutagrl/pseuds/Rokutagrl
Summary: Oikawa is a perfectionist. This, Kageyama knows. He knows it very well.





	Primadonna Boy (Youtube Taught Me How to Feel)

**Author's Note:**

> OiKage Week - Day 1 - Youtuber AU! 
> 
> The art accompanying this fic belongs to @Deadfreckledboys on tumblr <3

“Just remember, my starlings: The truth is out there!”

Oikawa flashes the camera a charming grin with an ease that is infuriating, throwing up twin peace signs that tilt inwards and frame either side of his cheeks endearingly.

There is no soundtrack to play him out, but Kageyama still hears the phantom notes– an airy, mysterious beat that usually accompanies this particular segment. Oikawa had ripped it from his favorite show– an American program he binged once he’d learned enough English. _Y files_ , or _something_. It gives Kageyama the creeps, but Oikawa insists it crafts the perfect mood.

“Just keep searching~!” With the last line of his outro delivered, Oikawa’s eyes fixate on a single point overhead, chest halting on it’s last inhale. Behind him, fairy lights blink in and out of life, canvased over the image of a dark sky through his bedroom window and when their eyes meet, Kageyama can’t quite tell which shines brighter.

He stares a moment too long and knows it when Oikawa’s eyes flash lightly with annoyance. His fingers deftly reach around the back end of the camera and switch it off. It is only then, when the red recording button dims, does Oikawa shake back to life, his winsome image deflating with the breath that leaves his pursed lips.

It is a waste of his own breath, but Kageyama mutters, “You don’t have to keep the pose every time.” He lifts the camera from the tripod and warms it back up. “We can always edit it out before uploading.”

“That’s not the point, Tobio-chan.”

“What is?”

“Just being cautious,” Oikawa clicks his tongue. He steps back until his knees bend over the ledge of the window seat and he pats the cushion beside him. “Things leak all the time. It wouldn’t do to accidentally record something scandalous.”

Kageyama pads the few feet from his set up to join him. When he settles in, Oikawa scrunches his legs to his chest, knees uncomfortably knocking into his forearms. Kageyama pushes back on them with his elbow as he rewinds through the last half hour of footage, but he is unsuccessful at dislodging the other.

Oikawa’s attention is sharp, absolute as they watch the full playback, leaning further into Kageyama’s space until he is flush and warm against his side. Scraps of auburn hair tickle on his cheek and a pesky cowlick obscures a portion of his vision from the screen. He urges Kageyama to repeat it, and begrudgingly he rewinds.

Kageyama finds distraction in fingering one of the several potted succulents that line the flat surface of the bench, listening to Oikawa murmur along to the video in perfect tempo. Strings of fairy lights to their back thunk against the window in waves whenever either of them fidgets. There is no where to find purchase in the alcove and Kageyama’s back suffers to sit up straight for so long, but Oikawa insists this spot is more conducive to productivity. He does not share in the _how_.

“This one’s perfect,” Oikawa breathes. His fingers are cold when they brush against Kageyama’s to relinquish the camera from his hold. He thumbs a few buttons and hums with satisfaction as his intro starts again. “If we edit it tonight, we might be able to upload it in the morning.”

Kageyama grunts. “I still think the last take was just fine.”

“No,” Oikawa tuts. “There was sun glare. You could barely see half of my face.”

It is a very nice face, Kageyama relents secretly. Not _ten hours crouched before a camera_ nice–but here he is.

“You don’t really need a cameraman for this type of shoot,” Kageyama grumbles.

Oikawa’s hair swipes along his jaw when he turns to look up at him. He blinks at Kageyama, slowly. “Then what do I need you for?”

Kageyama cannot read them, but Oikawa’s eyes twinkle like the lights that circle around them– captivate him–and so he fumbles when Oikawa chooses then to force the camcorder back into his hands. And– _“Fuck,_ ” he hisses– the LCD screen snaps shut on his fingers, beeping at him angrily until he rights it with one hand, shaking the other until the throbbing subsides.

“Well?” Oikawa prompts him with a jab of his index finger to his chest.

“Like for more… Action shots,” Kageyama says, taking in a deep breath. His pulse still rabbits behind his eyes, in his chest. He’d been so close to losing _all that work_. “Collabs, probably. I don’t need to sit here when you’re just filming in your room.”

Oikawa says nothing at first, but nudges one of his legs under Kageyama’s arms to splay it across his lap. The other slips along his back, the friction of Oikawa’s jeans scratching on his skin where the movement hikes up his shirt, and soon his ankles latch together at the jut of Kageyama’s waist. He leans forward, arms hugging loosely to his shoulders and squeezing Kageyama closer.

“But Tobio-chan,” Oikawa whispers with a honey sweet cadence. The brush of his lips on the shell of Kageyama’s ear suddenly causes a shudder to ripple over his spine. “Maybe I’m just forcing you to spend more time with me.”

When Kageyama shifts to look at him, Oikawa takes advantage of the angle to steal a chaste kiss. His grin a beat later is mirthful, tongue skimming along his own bottom lip as if to purloin a second taste. Kageyama watches it, dazed, and his head swims with the thick scent of Oikawa’s cologne.

It is his eyes, Kageyama decides, that are the brightest thing in the room. Certainly brighter than anything artificial. Outside of Oikawa’s personality, at least.

“Hey, Tobio-chan…” Oikawa trails off, eyes darting quickly from Kageyama’s lips, to his lap, back up to his eyes. The amusement has drained from his expression along with any color on his cheeks. Kageyama lowers his eyes to his own lap where the camera lens gazes back up at him. “Did you… hit the record button…?”  
  
The red light is unmistakable.

Kageyama stares it down, wills it to fade off, but it does not. He presses his lips in a tight line.  
  
Oikawa lets out a dramatic groan, forehead heavy where it drops on Kageyama’s shoulder.

“You better not have recorded over the last take.”


End file.
